Ignite Me
by unholytrifecta
Summary: A glimpse into the mind of a tortured Brittany Susan 'Firefly' Pierce. Based on the Glee AU, 'The Deadly Four'. Oneshot. First Glee fanfic. Rated M for language and slight gore.


**Author**: EtherealPhoenix  
><strong>Title<strong>: Ignite Me  
><strong>Rating<strong>: M [For Language]  
><strong>Summary<strong>: A glimpse into the mind of a tortured Brittany Susan 'Firefly' Pierce. Based on the Glee AU, 'The Deadly Four'.  
><strong>Disclaimer<strong>: I do **not** own Glee. I don't own The Deadly Four, either - all credit goes to **intergalactickoala** on Tumblr [Intergalactic Koala here]. I fucking love you, Naomi. This wouldn't have been possible without you.

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><p><strong>Ignite Me<strong>

Brittany Pierce sat cross-legged in the Lopez estate's main entertainment room, staring at the fireplace. She watched the wavering flames with an intensity that was reserved for few things in the girl's life. The crackling embers were the only sound to be heard, until the telltale creak of a body settling on the couch interrupted the silence.

A gentle, familiar hand rested on her shoulder. "Britt? I'm sure _something_ in here can entertain you more than the fireplace," the intruder remarked, the smirk on her face all too evident from her tone.

The blonde-haired girl said nothing, and Santana's smirk fell. In times like these, she just had to sit and wait. Times like these, when Brittany was lost in her own thoughts. Times when Brittany was a mystery.

And God, Santana _hated_ not knowing what her girl was thinking.

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><p>Reflections of firelight danced across a pair of eyes, dimming normally blue irises to a murky teal shade. She sat here at least once a week - more, if she felt the need. Her makeshift family all had their individual ways of coping. This was hers.<p>

"_Britt, baby? What are you doing? It's late." Santana had been searching the mansion for the blonde. Staring at her now, the shorter girl looked perplexed and perhaps the slightest bit amused._

_Brittany's eyes were locked onto the flames, not even breaking contact to gaze at her. "I feel like I'm drowning."_

_Santana arched an eyebrow. "It's fire…wouldn't you be burning?"_

"_No, burning is too painful."_

That was the first time Santana had ever caught her on her late-night ritual. It also happened to be the last time Brittany talked about it.

Because, really, how could she explain it?

More often than not, Brittany was never truly _there_, in front of that fireplace. Her mind took over, and the sizzling of coals became the sickening spatter of fat boiling, of blisters forming then bursting from the heat. Sometimes it was Artie, other times it wasn't. She had a million scenes to revisit, and a million faces to watch contort in agony. An endless series of names, screams, pleas and tears echoed in every corner of her mind, all ending in temporary, welcome silence. But only for a moment, and then another murder would play, as fresh as if it had happened that morning. They never faded for her as they did for most. Brittany Pierce didn't have the luxury of a poor memory.

She couldn't run away from the carnage. A compilation of gruesome horror stories lay just behind her eyelids, in graphic detail, never to be erased.

Siobhan Cavanaugh. Daughter of an Irish mob boss. Five foot six, auburn hair, pale green eyes. She had a slight accent, and her voice managed to rise an octave higher before her vocal cords were scorched through. March 16th.

Unknown male, six foot two, cropped brown hair, brown eyes. Scar above his right eyebrow. One of the more aggressive ones - Santana ended up silencing him with a bullet to the head before he burned. June 22nd. …That one wasn't even an intended target, just a casualty of some misplaced rage.

Quite honestly? No matter how high the body count rose, she couldn't bring herself to stop. She didn't _try_ to stop. She could lose herself. It was easier to follow the path of a flame crawling up someone's skin than it was to follow the broken path her life had taken. It was easier to watch the pain of her victims than reflect on her own. She relived her crimes to distract herself, before she lingered too long on her own shame. She had to keep killing before the guilt caught up to her - because when it did, she'd be shattered.

There was one other thing - or rather, person - that kept her sane. Santana Lopez. Ironically enough, _her _sanity was questionable, at best.

Brittany understood fire, so she understood Santana just as easily. Everyone knew that putting their hand too close to a candle's flame would make the pain unbearable. But she knew it was simply a defense mechanism to keep people from getting closer. All she had to do was move one more inch, make one small movement, and close her hand over the top of the candle. Just like that, no more fire. Push them away before they get too close; before they figure out your weaknesses.

Violent, destructive, bending its victims to its will with no effort required. Fire consumed everything in its path without a thought. Everything it conquered only served to strengthen the flames and extend their influence.

Fire was something that, Brittany quickly learned, refused to be tamed. It could be suppressed and contained temporarily, but you'd better be damn sure you're not in the way when it's released. It will attack you twice as viciously for even attempting to control it.

And it was fucking magnificent to watch in action.

Not that it was any less beautiful when it was resting. She loved the wisps of blue where flames met kindling, and how the fire eased up into yellow peaks, rimmed with a reddish-orange. She loved how the shadows twisted and distorted around her, creeping up the walls and around her feet. It was a beautiful thing - an impulsive force of nature. Just like Santana. To anyone else, it was impossible to imagine the ruthless Santana Lopez curled up on the couch, her pinky hooked around Brittany's, with her other hand gently combing through the girl's long blonde hair. Brittany had no doubts. That side of her was still Santana. Just…_all _of Santana.

That was the thing: fire was unpredictable. It was vicious, it was chaotic, but it also had the potential to be so damn _good_. For Brittany, nothing compared to being wrapped up in Santana's embrace. Fuck a fireplace. _Her_ touch was the heat people sought after being outside on a cold winter's day. It seeped into her bones and warmed her from the inside out. It was heaven in the midst of the hell they'd created for themselves.

Santana was the permanent light in Brittany's darkness - the light that, if only for moments at a time, banished the guilt that threatened to consume her very existence. She was freedom.

Santana was fire personified.

But how could she even begin to explain that to her?

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><p>Brittany blinked once, and turned to face the girl behind her. Vivid blue met near-black. The darker set was waiting, expectant, and crinkled at the corners from the beginnings of a soft smile. Santana hadn't taken her eyes off her since she'd walked into the room, which was an impressive feat, considering twenty minutes had passed.<p>

"San?" she whispered, twisting her entire body around to properly talk to the girl on the couch. The flames tinted Santana's bronze skin with streaks of faded orange, and highlighted the deep brown of her impossibly dark irises. Beautiful.

"Hm?"

Brittany got to her knees and craned her neck towards Santana's, her lips hovering a mere inch away. "Kiss me."

"Britt, you never have to ask," Santana murmured, impulsively swiping her tongue over her lower lip. After these sessions, Brittany always, without fail, said those two words. Her tone always held a finality that dared the brunette to refuse.

As if she ever would.

"Good, because I wasn't asking." The couch dipped under Brittany's weight as she climbed up to straddle Santana. The blonde raised an eyebrow, silently issuing the challenge once more. Santana made no attempt to claim dominance. She caught the silent plea in those blue eyes that she adored, and understood. This just wasn't something Brittany could put into words. Her girl needed this, so she trusted her. And fuck, did a dominant Brittany turn her on.

With no further thought, their lips connected in a slow, intense kiss.

Most people said they saw fireworks when they kissed someone special. This was different. For Brittany, the world - _her _ world - stopped. Like a film strip that had been caught under a projector for too long, her memories paused, ignited, and smoldered from the inside out, until only black remained.

She knew the memories were only gone temporarily. They would resurface. Eventually, they would be replaced by another victim, another story that she would be cursed to remember forever.

As long as Santana was there to burn them away, Brittany could survive.

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><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: So, there it is. First Glee fanfic ever. I hope you enjoyed it, and I sincerely hope I did TDF justice. Review, please?  
>PS: You can find me, and this story, on Tumblr - <strong> unholytrifecta <strong>[formerly **diaryofafallenangel**].  
>-EtherealPhoenix.<p> 


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